by Chris Stout
Eldon was still exchanging threats with Sam when he realized that Tim was in trouble. He saw Miranda in the bedroom with the gun and let of a wild shot before diving behind the kitchen counter.
#
“Shit!” Sam ducked down behind his cruiser. “We’ve got shots fired. All units, check in. Was anyone hit?”
He received a chorus of “negatives,” both shouted and over the radio.
“Must of come from inside,” Arnie said, kneeling beside him. “Fired at somebody inside, I mean.”
Sam groaned inwardly as he thought of Miranda. Had they executed her? “We’re going to have to go in,” he said grimly. “Kevin, you take out those hinges with the shotgun. Arnie, you drop the door. I’m first through, and I’ll cover the left side. Arnie, head right. Kevin, you’re on me and Hal, you’re on Arnie. Rest of you guys will cover windows and be ready to move in on my word.”
#
Miranda didn’t have time to get into a gunfight with Eldon. That single shot he had fired meant she had maybe a few seconds before the police stormed in. She knew that Sam wouldn’t waste any time if he thought a hostage was in danger. Sparta didn’t have a separate SWAT team, but all the officers were trained in tactical entries. Keeping a wary eye on the door, Miranda scrambled around the room looking for a way out.
She thought back to how she had been caught in the first place. There had been movement under the trailer right before Eldon had pulled his gun. Maybe there was a hole or something cut into the floor. She didn’t think that was standard on a mobile home, but then these militia guys were always modifying things with an eye to getting away. It made sense. She searched the floor on the other side of the bed and found the escape route, still uncovered from when it was used to trap her. Perfect. Then Tim groaned from the floor. Miranda was surprised; the blow she dealt to his throat was supposed to have crushed his larynx. Maybe she had been off a bit. No matter. She lifted the trap door free and then walked to where Tim lay. Her two pistol shots coincided with a pair of shotgun blasts from outside. And then she was gone.
#
Arnie kicked the door out of the frame, and then Sam was through. He saw Eldon crouched behind the counter, clutching a pistol. “Drop it!” Sam ordered. Eldon spun around as Arnie and Kevin came through the door. As Hal Golding was making his way in, Eldon fired, knocking the officer out of the door way. Two shotguns and a pistol answered, and Eldon crumpled in a heap.
“Kevin, check on Hal. Arnie, clear that bathroom and then stack up on me.”
While Arnie made sure the bathroom was empty, Sam swept behind the counter area in the kitchenette. Kevin called up to him. “Hal’s all right. His vest caught the brunt of it. I’ve got Strunk and Boomer helping him back to the cruiser.”
“Good man. We’ve got a bedroom there, door closed, and I’m guessing at least one suspect waiting for us behind it.”
“How do you want to tackle this one, boss?”
“Whoever’s back there is probably waiting for us. I’ve already got one man down; I’m in no mood to lose another. Have Smithy and Gerard get one of the pepper-spray canisters out of my trunk. We’ll put it through the back window, wait for the room to ventilate and then go in.”
Arnie motioned to the kitchen counter. “Hey Sam, check this out.”
Sam followed his pointing finger. His jaw clenched when he saw the blonde wig and the silenced Walther lying there.
#
Miranda lay in the dirty gravel beneath the trailer as she listened to the brief exchange of gunfire erupt inside. She winced when she heard one of the officers fall, but took the opportunity to crawl out from underneath and make good her escape. While the officers were busy tending to their wounded comrade, she managed to make it around the side of another trailer. She held there for a minute catching her breath. The Smith and Wesson automatic remained clutched in her hand. She would get rid of it as soon as she was clear; she had enough weapons already and no magazines that would fit this one. “Dammit,” she said. Her Walther was still inside, along with her handbag and her wig. That pretty much shot any hope she had of passing as a victim. Her prints were on the gun, and there were plenty of hairs in the wig. She hadn’t killed any of the known casualties with the Walther. But eventually Tracy would be found, and even barring that, the serial number would be a match for the weapon stolen from Beaumont’s store.
There was nothing she could do about it now; she had never really expected to get away clean in the first place. Miranda figured that if she made it out of here, she would be able to hold out long enough to get through the next day. After that… well, she tried not to think about it too much.
She watched as a pair of officers came around to the rear of Eldon’s trailer and put out one of the bedroom windows. They tossed in what looked like a small grenade. Miranda realized that they thought someone was still holed up in the room, and they were flushing them out. Tim probably wouldn’t be bothered anymore by the tear gas or whatever they used, but the commotion gave her a chance to move further away.
She kept low, ducking quickly between mobiles, making her way to the visitors’ lot. A small group of people evacuated from their trailers mingled about, close to her car. Many of them were in nightclothes, stamping their feet to stay warm. Miranda tossed the pistol away and strode over to the group. There weren’t any officers with the people, but sirens told her that they were on the way. She shook her head. Sam would catch hell for not having a uniform available for crowd control, except for the fact that the person most likely to give him hell was already dead.
Miranda made her way around the crowd to her stolen car and drove off without her headlights on, attracting more than a few curious glances. She turned them on as she pulled out of the trailer park and onto the county road.
Chapter 36
Sam slumped into his recliner at home a few hours before dawn. The media, the Sheriff and the FBI had all arrived on the scene at about the same time. He had been able to meet with the other law enforcement officials away from the news cameras, and under their suggestion had gone home to get some rest. He and his officers all had to be at the Unity Day rally to help provide security and crowd control. After filling out a hasty report, he left the crime scene technicians to do their job. An ambulance carried Hal Golding to the same hospital in which Hector Gutierrez lay. Hal’s wound wasn’t severe, but it was standard procedure to be taken in for observation. He was the third Sparta officer to be put out of action in a week. We’re being wiped out almost as fast as the militia, Sam thought.
That brought his mind to Miranda. He simply couldn’t believe she was the one responsible for so much carnage. Even when he was stationed in Iraq his unit hadn’t suffered as many casualties as the town of Sparta had the past two weeks. And over there, the threat of snipers, unexploded mines and sabotage had been constant concerns. One of the draws of his current job had been the relatively quiet atmosphere. He liked the scene in a college town; there was plenty going on through the school year, and then a whole summer to recover from the action. Having done his degree in the Army, Sam had never experienced campus life. In this capacity, he was able to get just enough of a taste of it to be satisfied. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined being tossed into a situation like this one. Nor did he ever think he could botch an investigation as badly as he had.
Sam’s phone rang just after dawn, and he realized he must have dozed off for a bit. It hadn’t done much to rest his body, but his brain was working in overdrive and supplied him with all the energy he needed. He took a sip of lukewarm water to wash the tackiness out of his mouth and then picked up the receiver.
“Sam Connor.”
“Did Tim offer much resistance?”
Sam froze at the sound of her voice. It was a while before he answered, but Miranda made no other sound. “I guess you would know,” he said.
“Thought I’d save you some trouble. Who did Eldon hit?”
“Hal.” Sam cleared his throat and took another drink.
“He got Hal.”
“Is he okay?”
“Yeah, he’ll be fine. His vest stopped the brunt of it. Eldon had hollow-points loaded. FMJ’s would have done a lot more damage.”
“I take it Eldon’s dead?”
“Yeah. We had to take him down. I guess that saves you some work too.”
Miranda laughed. “Touché.”
“And how are you, Miranda? Where are you?”
“I’m okay,” she said lightly. “Eldon molested me a bit, and Tim roughed me up some. I’ve got a nice lump on my head from being slammed into the trailer wall, but I’ll live.”
“Mm,” Sam said. “I think I heard that. Actually, it’s what scared the shit out of Eldon. After that, he went pretty much nuts.”
“I know. I was there.”
“And why were you there?”
“I’m sure you know the answer to that, Sam.”
“Maybe we could meet, and you could clear up a few things for me, just in case I’ve missed anything.” Sam walked with the cordless into his kitchen and poured himself a fresh glass of water.
“I doubt that will happen. My work here is done. The militia’s gone, except for Jesse. But I’m guessing it’ll be five to ten before I get a chance to try for him again.”
“Everybody knows who you are, Miranda. They won’t stop hunting you.”
“They?” Miranda said with some surprise. “Sam, I’m ashamed that you’ve let these other people take over.”
“No choice. It’s a Federal matter now. But if you turn yourself in to me, maybe we can work something out.”
“There isn’t anybody I’d rather surrender to, Sam. I mean that.” She paused for a bit. “I almost wish I hadn’t stopped kissing you that night.”
Me too, he didn’t say out loud. “I guess it’d beat almost killing each other.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t too happy about that. What the hell were you doing there, anyway?”
It was Sam’s turn to laugh. “You know, I can barely remember. I think I went over to talk to Jesse. Saw the light on in the basement, then it went off when I came to the door. Made me curious.”
“Shit. I knew I should have left it on and laid low. Sorry about that. I hope I didn’t hit you. I really had no idea it was you until I saw your car.”
Sam smacked himself audibly on the forehead. “Shit. I parked behind your car that night, didn’t I?”
“Yup. I thought for sure you had me.”
“Never even made the connection.”
“You’re slipping there, Detective.”
“Maybe. Why’d you shoot that neighbor?”
“Needed a distraction. You had me in a pretty tight spot.”
Sam wished he had a tape recorder or a tracer to track her down. “So what happens now?”
“I guess I go to points unknown and everybody’s mother tries to hunt me down.”
“I see.”
“Well Sam, I guess this is so long.”
“Or maybe we’ll see each other soon.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“You know I can’t let this go.”
“You’re a good man, Sam. You really are. I don’t want you in my sights. Good-bye.” And with that, she hung up.
Sam looked at his phone for a bit. Suddenly inspired, he hit the star key and two digits, the code that would let him find out from what number his last incoming call had originated. He cursed when the number came up as “not being in the system.” He tossed the phone against the wall and strode into the bathroom to shower and shave.
#
Miranda showered in one of the public restrooms in a girls’ dormitory on campus. She thought about returning to Tracy’s house to clean up and rest, but the idea of confronting the corpse in the bathtub made her stomach churn. So she parked in a public garage for a few hours, changing her clothes and napping a bit, and then drove back to campus, where she would need to be anyway. At that early hour of the morning, she didn’t worry about running into anyone; college students were not known for their fondness of rising with the sun.
Her rumbling stomach alerted her to the fact that she needed to eat. She tied her hair up in a tight bun and decided to risk eating breakfast at one of the campus dining facilities. She stashed one of the MP-5’s with a trench coat under a couch in one of the dorm common rooms, then went to eat. Her threaded Glock rode in the shoulder holster under her turtleneck, and her department-issued one was tucked into the waistband of her jeans. She sure missed the PPK.
The attendant at the check-out counter regarded her puffy face with concern. The woman looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place a name with the face. Miranda ignored the look and paid for her meal. She picked out some French toast, bacon, hash browns and several glasses of orange juice. Seating was ample in the mostly empty dining hall, so she chose a table near an emergency exit where she could sit with her back against the wall. Halfway through her meal, the check-out attendant approached her, frowning.
“Can I help you?” Miranda asked, wiping her hands on a napkin and leaning forward for easier access to her Glock.
“I’m sorry to bother you dear. But I couldn’t help noticing,” the woman paused and sat down, “those bruises on your face. If you need someone to talk to, there’s plenty of counselors available, and the campus police will keep your identity anonymous.”
Miranda stared in shock for a moment and then sipped at her orange juice in an attempt to suppress a grin. “I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself.”
“I know. I’m sure you can. It’s just that, sometimes we could all use a little help, is all.”
Miranda smiled gently. “Well, you should have seen the other guy.”
The woman looked skeptical, but nodded. A whistle from the counter let her know that another student needed service. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I just… well, I know what it’s like to live in an abusive home. I just got away from my man myself, so I’m pretty sensitive to the issue.”
“I understand. But I’ll be fine, really. Thanks though,” Miranda squinted to read the name printed on the woman’s tag. “Thanks, Loretta. I appreciate your concern.”
Loretta Hamm smiled knowingly and rose to return to her post. Miranda finished her breakfast quickly, not wanting to be disturbed again, then hurried out of the dining hall to prepare for the rest of the day.
Chapter 37
The combined law enforcement agencies met at the Sparta PD to discuss Unity Day. Sheriff Horn was there, along with the commandant of the local Ohio State Highway Patrol outpost. Two agents from the FBI were in attendance. The police chief of the Sparta Campus PD arrived a minute late; following him through the door was a captain from the Columbus, Ohio Police Department, which was lending mounted officers for crowd control. In the absence of Wainwright, Sam was in attendance representing the Sparta City Police Department.
Since Unity Day was taking place on his turf, the campus officer, John Blankenship, was in charge of planning for security and crowd control. He had been working closely with Sheriff Horn and, until he was killed, Chief Wainwright. Because of the murders, Sam wasn’t fully up to speed on what was going to happen, but he knew that his tired officers were being relied upon mostly to support crowd-control.
“I think we all pretty much know our roles,” Blankenship said. “Highway Patrol is going to provide immediate security for the gentlemen from the NAACP and the other major figures in attendance. Captain Jameson’s men,” he indicated the officer from Columbus, “have been kind enough to take over patrol of the streets surrounding the campus. My uniformed men and the sheriff’s deputies will be doing random searches, checking ID’s, and responding to any incidents that occur in the designated rally areas. Sam, your men will be the plainclothes units, and also on patrol in the city, backing up anyone as needed.”
Sam nodded in reply. Because of his depleted ranks, he didn’t mind being relegated to the background. Besides, it would give him time to try and figure out what Mi
randa might do next.
“Now, I have a quick question,” Blankenship said. “What is the threat assessment of this militia unit that’s shown up?”
Sam and Sheriff Horn exchanged glances. “Well,” Sam said, “the one we’ve discovered to be operating locally has been pretty much wiped out.”
“And the person who’s been killing them?”
“We haven’t caught her yet, but everyone is familiar with her identification.”
“She used to be one of yours, so I hope everyone knows her. But that means she knows you guys too.”
“Miranda’s pretty banged up right now,” Sam explained. “I think I wounded her a couple of nights ago, and she’s had a rough time ever since, near as I can tell. She knows we’re after her. And I don’t think there’s anyone left for her to go after. The whole militia is dead or in jail. She’s too smart to risk another attack.”
Blankenship didn’t look convinced.
“If she shows, we’ll see her coming,” Sam said.
“I hope.” The Chief of Campus Police next turned to the FBI men. “And this ‘Reverend’ guy who’s showing up, to protest Unity Day. What can we expect from him?”
The taller of the two agents replied. “Wallace Dean Mercer, also known as The Reverend. He’s a big name in the right-wing militant movement. He spends a lot of time and money on public access channels, and also travels around the Midwest, especially focusing on college campuses. He spouts off a lot of racist bullshit, but usually doesn’t start anything too serious. It’s after his appearances that we start seeing, uh, incidents occurring.”